


Everything Will Be Okay

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I cry for Prim. For myself. For Mama. For Papa. Papa's dead, and now we will be too. Maybe starving won't be too painful. Maybe it'll be okay. Maybe it won't hurt too badly. *AU where Katniss gets a job at the bakery after her father's death. This changes quite a few events along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Katniss' POV.**

     He's dead. He's been dead for three days. It doesn't feel right, waking up and expecting him to be there. I have to remind myself every day that he was killed. The mines killed him.

     Mama hasn't spoken since he died. Hasn't even moved. Prim is starving. I'm starving too, but I don't care about myself. Prim doesn't deserve this. If I can't get Mama to do something, I'll have to give her to someone else.

     Maybe Greasy Sae will take her in. Papa always said Greasy Sae would take in any and every stray.

     But Prim isn't a stray.

     I crawl over to where Mama sits, looking out of the window, her face devoid of emotion. "Mama." I shake her gently. "Mama, please. Say something." No response. I sigh. Maybe tomorrow. "Mama, I'm going to go see if I can find something to eat." I wait to see if she responds. She doesn't. I kiss her cheek and grab my shabby jacket. Prim's sleeping, so I hurry out before she wakes up and begs to come with me.

     I blink as the bright snow blinds me momentarily. The Seam is crowded with women and their children. Women offering their service and goods for almost any amount of money or food. They're not Papa. They don't know that they can bargain.

     I walk aimlessly. I only have two options. Begging or digging through the trash. There's nothing for me in the Seam. No one has enough to feed themselves as it is. They won't be able to spare any. And they don't throw anything out.

     So, I have to go to town. It'll get me nowhere, I'm sure. The merchants hate Seam kids. It doesn't matter that my mother was merchant at one time. That just makes it worse. But I have no other choice. It's either starve to death or swallow my pride and beg for food.

     I make my way into town. I hesitate before walking up to the shoemaker's door step and knocking. A blond man with a blonde girl about my age in his arms opens the door. He looks dismayed when he sees me.

     "What do you want?" He asks gruffly.

     I fidget around and stare at my shoes as I drag my toe across the ground. "I was wondering . . ."

     "Speak up, girl. I cain't hear ya."

     I clear my throat and look up at him. "I was wondering if you could spare something to eat. Anything. Please, sir, I beg you."

     He shakes his head. "Sorry, I ain't got much." Before I can say anything else, he shuts his door in my face. I sigh and walk on.

     A dozen buildings later – and still nothing to eat – I come to the bakery. I don't bother knocking on the door. They'll just say no. I walk to the back and start filing through the trash. There's not much except for moldy bread. I'm tempted to take it and just scrape the mold off when a hand jerks me away and throws me to the ground.

     "Ow . . ." I cry.

     "How _dare_ you, you stupid little—" The woman advances towards me, and I recognize her as the baker's wife, Mrs. Mellark. I had almost forgotten Papa had traded with Mr. Mellark after hunting.

     "I'm sorry! I'm just hungry."

     She jerks my arms and leans closer to my face. "Oh, you're hungry, are you? So you thought you could just come here and steal our food, you little brat?"

     "It's in the garbage! You obviously weren't going to eat it." I don't know why I'm talking back to her. I should run. I should get away from her. But I don't.

     She slaps me, hard. I fall back against the hard, cold dirt and vaguely note that someone must shovel all of the snow somewhere else. Anger stirs in me. How dare _she hit me_? Who does she think she is?

     I sit up and glare at her, staring straight into her eyes. "Does it make you feel better, hitting someone who can't hit back? Your family must love you."

     Hatred smolders in her eyes, but I see I hit a nerve. "Get out of here, brat. I better never see you here again, or I'll . . ."

     I stand up and walk away. I plop down by a tree and watch her as she walks back into the bakery. And then I cry.

     I cry for Prim. For myself. For Mama. For Papa. Papa's dead, and now we will be too. Maybe starving won't be too painful. Maybe it'll be okay. Maybe it won't hurt too badly.

      Or maybe I could make Prim drink too much of Mama's medicines. It'd be a fast and painless death for her. I don't want her to suffer. She's suffered enough.

      If only I could make it to twelve. Then I could take tesserae. It'd be something.

      "Um . . . hi."

     I'm startled from my thoughts and I look up to see Peeta Mellark standing over me, shuffling his feet and staring down at the ground. I blink in confusion and then realize he's probably here to throw me out of town. Who knows what his mother sent him to do.

     "Okay," I sigh, "I'm leaving. You don't have to yell at me."

     He shakes his head. "No, no!" I raise an eyebrow and shrug.

     "Then why did you come out here, then? For a nice little chit-chat?"

     He bites his lip and stares up at the sky. "Uh, no. Actually, I wanted to invite you into the bakery."

     I stare at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

     He nods furiously.

     I fold my arms and glare. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

     "No! It isn't. My dad wants you to come inside and get warmed up. He says you look cold."

     I raise my chin. "I'm not cold."

     He looks almost pleading now. "Could you please just come in? My dad wants to apologize for my mom. She's . . . well, she's not the nicest person."

     "Oh, believe me," I scoff, "I know."

     "I'm sorry she slapped you," And he does appear to be awfully contrite.

     I shrug. "It's not your fault."

     He nods. "Yeah, but still. Can we please make it up to you?"

      I'm starting to cave in. "But . . . what about your mom?"

     "She left. Went out the back door and down the street to stay with her sister. She said . . . well, I won't repeat what she said."

     I give in. "Okay, but only for a minute."

    The delight on his face is worth it, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Katniss' POV**

     "Hello, Katniss." Mr. Mellark says with a warm smile.

     "How do you know my name?"

     He laughs. It's bright and cheery, which surprises me, since he's been married to a woman who probably never laughed in her life for a long time. "Well, your father used to trade with me. Before . . ."

     I nod sadly. I know what he means. "Yeah, I forgot."

     He hands me a cookie, one with little bits of chocolate. "You're young. You're allowed to forget things.

     I want to protest, but something stops me. He seems too nice to argue with. So I shrug. "I guess. Thanks."

     "You're welcome." He beams at me before turning to Peeta. "Son, why don't you get some of that fancy chocolate from the Capitol and make some hot chocolate for you and Katniss?"

     Peeta frowns. "But, won't Mom be mad?"

     Mr. Mellark sighs. "Your mother won't be coming back anytime soon, Peeta. Go ahead and make some." He turns to me, seeming to sense my discomfort. "I'm sorry about her. She's been stressed lately."

     I shrug. "It's okay. And you don't have to waste chocolate on me."

     "It's not a waste, not at all. You must be cold, and it'll help warm you up." He gives me a warm smile, and I give in.

     "Okay," I sigh, "but only a little. I have to get back to my sister."

     He nods. "I wanted to say that . . . well, I'm sorry. About your father's death."

     I pull myself up, and straighten my chin, trying to look bigger than I am. "Thank you," I mutter stiffly.

     He nods again, distracted. "I . . . well, I know that it's winter time. And it's hard to come by food in the winter time, especially in the Seam . . ."

     "We do just fine." I say with a cold edge. Everdeens do not take kindly to people talking about the Seam.

     "Oh, I'm sure you do the best you can. But, the point is, you're a little girl. Still a child. No offense, but you'll have trouble finding anything to eat, and I'd rather you and your family not starve."

      I'm too tired to deny any of this. So I slouch and fight back tears. "But what can I do?" My voice cracks, much to my chagrin.

      Peeta returns with the hot chocolate, and sets a mug in front of me. I stare at it warily, not sure if I should accept or not. "Drink it," Peeta says with a smile, "It's good."

      I oblige. It scalds my tongue a bit, but otherwise it tastes good. I wish I could bring Prim some.

     Mr. Mellark starts talking again. "I was thinking that perhaps you could come here? To work?"

     My eyes widen and I try to understand what he means. "You mean . . . but I'm too young to work. It's not legal."

     He laughs. His laugh is a lot like Papa's was, which makes me sad. "Nothing in this entire district is legal, so don't you worry about that."

     "I can't bake."

     "You don't have to. You can sweep the floors, clean the cabinets and ovens, make deliveries, and so on. We'll teach you how to bake, if you want. But if you don't, there's plenty more that you can do. I'll pay you a fair amount, and give you a bit of bread and sweets for your help each week. Whatever you like."

     I go over it in my head. It's fair enough. Better than begging or starving. Prim could survive. She wouldn't have to live with Greasy Sae. We can survive. I straighten my shoulders and nod firmly.    "Seems fair. I accept your offer." I hold out my hand to shake, like I had seen Papa do with his trades. Mr. Mellark takes my hand in his and gives it a steady shake, laughing.

     "You'll work the same hours as Peeta. Well, maybe a little less, so you can get home on time."

     I nod, willing to work overtime if it means my family gets to live on. And then I remember one problem. "What about . . . what about your wife?"

     The light in Mr. Mellark's eyes dims a bit. "Well, darling, she won't be coming back here. Not for a while, if at all. If she does, she'll treat you with proper respect."

     "Yeah, I bet you're more enjoyable to have around than she is," Peeta adds.

     I whirl around to him, feeling as if I've been insulted in some way, when his dad lays a hand on his shoulder. "Son, she's still your mother. Even if . . . even if she wasn't very kind, you should still try to respect her."

     Peeta's shoulders sag, and I observe him. He seems so sad. Too sad. It makes my heart break a little, and that surprises me. I didn't know I had any heart left to break. "I know, Dad. I'm trying. But it's not easy." He turns to me with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I hope you didn't think I meant anything mean when I said you were more enjoyable. It was a compliment. Honest."

      And I realize it was. Because I do not think that Peeta Mellark could ever tell a lie.

kpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpk

     I get back home, Peeta escorting me (Mr. Mellark _insisted_ that he show me home), just before sunset. I wave Peeta off and get inside, noting that we need to chop more wood for the fireplace. I start a fire with what little wood we have left, and go off to see if Mama has improved.

     She's still sitting by the window, her eyes hollow and lifeless. I sit beside her and stroke her hair. "Mama, I got a job today. We're going to be okay."

     Prim bursts into the room, her face full of delight. "Katniss!" She hugs me around the waist and grins. "You should have woke me up before you left! I wanted to come with you!"

     I touch her nose tenderly. "You needed to sleep, Primmy. I'm sorry I left you alone all day. Did you eat?"

     She nods solemnly. "Yeah, I ate some crackers and a little bit of cheese. I wanted to save you some."

     I feel guilty now. "You didn't have to do that, Prim. I'm fine. In fact," I grab her hands and pull them to my chest, a grin taking over my own face, "I got a job today."

     Prim bounces up and down. "A job? Really?" She pauses, her face worried. "Not at the mines."

     "No, silly. I'm too young to work at the mines. At the bakery!"

     She screams in delight. "The bakery? Yay! The baker is so nice. I've met him twice."

     I grin. "We're going to be okay, Prim. We're going to be okay." I pull her in for a hug. "Everything will be okay."


	3. Chapter 3

**Peeta's POV**

     After I walk Katniss back to the Seam – with quite a few eyes following me, I have to admit – I return home to the bakery, just a bit before dark. My brothers, Rye and Leven, are there, leaning on the counters, whispering suspiciously. I ignore their smug smiles as I take off my jacket and fold it neatly, like Mother expected it.

_Mother._

     I can't say I'm sad to see her go. I'm relieved, actually. I know it won't last long, no matter what Father says. But, however long she's gone will be a good time.

     I rub the bruise on my shoulder and shudder. I hope she never comes back. I find myself hoping that she'll catch some illness or slip on ice and hit her head or something – anything – that will make her stay away.

     I'm a horrible person because of that.

     And, yet, I don't care.

     I decide to focus on the excitement I feel over Katniss coming to work at the bakery for the winter. Maybe she'll let us be friends. Delly's the only real friend I've ever had, and Katniss would be a good friend, I'm sure.

     "Hey, Peeta Bread." Rye thumps me on my bruised shoulder and I try to hold back a wince.

     "That's not even funny, Rye," Leven announces. "You're named after bread, too."

     Rye shrugs. "Well, Rye could be other things too! Not like _Peeta_ and _Leven_." He laughs as if it's the funniest thing he ever said.

     Sad thing about it is that it probably _is_ the funniest thing he ever said. Rye had never been overburdened with the gift to tell great jokes. Or even jokes that made sense.

     "Shut up, Rye." I push past him and went over to the glass counter where the cookies had to be taken out and dumped. I reach inside and bring out a sugar cookie, taking a bite before Rye can respond.

     Rye grabs two and hands one to Leven. "I'm just saying," He replies with his mouth full of cookie. "So, you think she's gone for good this time?"

     Leven shakes his head. "Nah, she'll be back. She always comes back. Give it a week or so, and she'll be back here, pleading Father to let her back in. And he will."

     "And then we'll go through our nightmare once more." Rye rolls his eyes. "So, Peeta, what do you think?"

     I pause and think a moment before responding. "She'll be back. As soon as she hears Katniss is working at the bakery, she'll come back and pitch a fit."

     Rye nods thoughtfully. "Okay, so what're our bets? I bet you my chores for a week that she'll be back by next week."

     "I'm betting two weeks."

     "I bet she'll be back in less than five days," I say.

     "Alright, Gentlemen, let's shake on it." And so we do.

Kpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkp

     Today is the first day of work for Katniss. It's a Monday, and school just let out. So I find her in the sea of people and tell her that we'll walk together. She looks annoyed, and I'm afraid that I sounded too bossy.

     "I-if you don't want to, you don't have to walk with me. I just thought that since we're going the same way, it'd make sense if we walked together. I understand if you don't want to, though. I mean—"

     "Peeta," she sighs, exasperated, "I'm fine with walking with you. I was just surprised that you wanted to be seen with someone from the Seam."

     My forehead furrows. "Why would I care where you're from?"

     "Most people dislike people from the Seam. I don't see why you'd be any different."

 _Maybe because I've had a crush on you for six years; I don't know, but that may have something to do with it._ "I guess my dad taught me that people are people. And you shouldn't treat any of them differently than you want to be treated."

     She smiles a little. "Your dad is a nice guy."

     "Yeah, he is."

     We walk in peaceful silence for the rest of the walk to the bakery.

Kpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkpkp

     Father is smiling and relaxed when we reach the bakery. I put on an apron and go over to the bread counter, preparing to make the cheese bun dough like I do every day. I look over at Katniss, but she doesn't seem comfortable when she shifts her stance and looks around the kitchen nervously.

     "Katniss, you can grab that broom and sweep the front. We're at a lag right now, so no one should bother you." Father smiles at her, apparently trying to set her at ease.

     She smiles gratefully. "Okay." And so she dashes off in search of the broom.

     We three work in silence, aside from the occasional instruction from Father or a soft hum from Katniss. It's a contented kind of silence, one that I enjoy working in. People come in and out. Most ignore Katniss, some are curious and stare at her, and others walk up to her boldly and ask her why she's here. Katniss always replies quietly, stating that she was hired to work here at the bakery. A few people have come up to my father to tell him that he's either crazy or blind for hiring her.

     "Mellark, you must've gone stupid. Have you _looked_ at that thing?" The general store owner asks bluntly when he comes into the shop.

     "Her name is Katniss. Show a little respect, Mason." My father replies.

     "She's from the Seam! She'll rob ya blind!"

     "That's a cruel stereotype, and Katniss is a nice girl. She's very grateful for work and will not betray my trust anytime soon, I'm sure."

     The general store owner points his index finger at my father and shakes his head. "You mark my words, you will regret this. You're too trusting of those Seam brats."

     Father crosses his arms. "And you're a close-minded gossip who would rather judge someone from where they live than get to know them. Which is worse?"

     The man shakes a fist. "You'll see, Mellark. You'll see." And with that, he storms out of the bakery.

     Katniss bites her lip and hangs her head as she approaches me. "Maybe I should leave," she whispers.

     I shake my head. "No, you shouldn't. That guy, he's just a grumpy old man who's bitter over his wife leaving him because he was such a grump. So now he goes around, trying to make everyone feel bad about themselves. Don't worry about him."

     She smiles again. "Thanks. I'll try to remember that." And so we continue working, until closing hours, Rye and Leven joining us later on in the evening, and then I walk Katniss home.

     And thus is how our routine is born.


	4. Chapter 4

**Katniss' POV**

     Another week passes and I'm slowly getting the hang of working in a bakery. Rye and Leven have almost adopted me, it seems. They fuss over me and teach me the right way to flip a doughnut in hot grease (apparently, there're a lot of ways to do it, but only one right way). They insist that one of them should always be near my side, should any less-than-standard males try to mess with me.

     Even though I can take care of myself, it's a sweet gesture. I've grown to like them like my own brothers. And, in a way, maybe they are.

     Today, Mr. Mellark had to go out to get supplies from the train. It only comes once a month, and we're running low on flour and butter. Rye and Leven are out practicing their wrestling at the school. So it's just Peeta and I here. Peeta refuses my help with the baking. He claims there isn't much to bake, and I should watch the storefront. Not wanting to argue about it, I agree.

     I'm sweeping the floors, for the fifth time in an hour due to boredom, when she walks in. She doesn't notice me. I don't see how, since I'm standing in the middle of the room. But I know she'd pitch a fit if she had noticed me.

     Peeta comes back out front. "Hey, Ka—" He stops short when he notices Mrs. Mellark angrily searching the room. I meet his gaze and shake my head. I really don't want her knowing I'm here. It's safe to say she kind of scares me.

     "There you are, you lazy boy," she snaps, "Where is your coward of a father? He needs to stop hiding and face me like a man."

     Peeta seems to shrivel beneath her gaze. "I don't know, ma'am."

     She scoffs, and my temper starts to rise. "Of course you don't. You don't know anything except how to make trouble, is that right? Of course it's right. That's all you've ever been to me. Trouble. You and your father both. Who knows why I married the lousy excuse for a man?"

     Scared of her or not, I will not let her talk that way about the kind man who saved my family's life. I throw my broom to the floor, letting the last clatter of the fallen broom fade away before I raise my voice. "How dare you?"

     She whirls around with a start and growls when she sees me. The growling reminds me of a rabid dog my father shot once. I remember the way he approached the dog, staying far enough that he could jump back should it lunge, but close enough to nearly touch its nose. He was calm and firm, being gentle enough to lure the unsuspecting dog to its death. It was what had to be done. And now I decide to approach Mrs. Mellark in a similar way.

     "Why did you let this half-breed in the bakery, you ignorant little fool?" She screams the question at Peeta, as if I were infected with a deadly disease that could kill off the entire district.

     "S-she works—" Peeta stutters, trying to get the words out of his mouth, even though it's apparent that he's terrified of her.

     Never show fear around a rabid dog.

     "I work here." I announce to her firmly. There is no question in my voice. There is no tremble. I am firm and calm. She cannot shake me from the foundation I've established to conquer her. Nothing can.

     Mrs. Mellark laughs a cold, hard laugh. There's no mirth in it. It seems as if it'd be more related to nails scraping a chalkboard than laughing. "No you aren't, you little brat."

     I raise a single eyebrow. "Says who? You?" Now it's my turn to laugh. "And where have you been the past two weeks? Not here." I hold up my hands and gesture around the bakery.

     "It's true, Mother," Peeta speaks up, "Father hired her."

     She whirls around to face him. "What?" She looks as if she might hit him. I won't let that happen, or she'll be bloodied and bruised before he even has a finger laid on him. Brooms can hurt very, very badly.

     "He says it's the truth. Are you deaf?" She turns back around to me.

     This goes on for thirty minutes. Peeta and I toss comments back and forth at her, and she'll turn to face the speaker. It's surprising that she hasn't collapsed from dizziness, but it's keeping her busy, so I'll take what I can get.

     After what seems like forever, Mr. Mellark comes back. "Brrr, it's cold outside. I'm glad to be back with the heat and—" He stops when he sees his (possibly ex) wife, much like Peeta did. I find the parallel almost amusing, if it weren't absolutely heartbreaking to see a father and son stopped short in fear over their wife/mother.

     Mrs. Mellark is seething in fury, her eyes flashing and teeth showing. Exactly like a dog. "It's about time you got back, James. We have a problem."

     Mr. Mellark raises his eyebrows as if he were truly interested in hearing these problems, but I could sense an underlying anger that was barely contained. "Oh?" was all he said.

     "You hired Seam trash to work here." It's not a question. It's almost a challenge.

     He folds his arms across his chest, glancing at me somewhat apologetically. "She has a name, and she is not trash. Yes, I hired her."

     "We don't need any more help! The whole reason we had kids was so they would help run the bakery. We don't need anyone else."

     He clears his throat. "I'm sorry, but why do you keep using the word 'we?' This is my bakery. I hired her. You have no say in it. In fact, I was just at the Justice Building. We'll no longer be married in a few months. You just need to sign a few papers and you can be free of us, like you always wanted."

     She's shocked. It's written all over her face. I glance at Peeta, and notice he seems shocked too.

     Mr. Mellark continues. "You know what, let's take this to the back office. No need to involve the children any more than they have to be. Peeta, I trust you can watch the storefront for a few more minutes? It doesn't look like we'll be getting any more business today, though. Not with all of this snow."

     Peeta nods. "Yes, sir." And with that, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark disappear into the back. There's the sound of a door shutting, and then muffled shouting. The sound of shattering glass. More shouting.

     Peeta and I sit quietly behind the counter on barstools. I hug my knees to my chest, tired from the events of today. "Was she . . . always like this?" I ask quietly. "I mean, you don't have to answer. I'm just wondering."

     Peeta shrugs. "I guess not. I don't know, really. She's been like this as long as I can remember. I kind of just figured Father would put up with it until they died."

     I nod. "I'm sorry. About how she is. And that I made it worse."

     He shakes his head. "You didn't make it worse. That's just how she is. Even if you hadn't been here, she would have found something to complain about."

     I sigh. "What time is it?" "Uh, three-forty-one, I think."

     I glance at him. "Think we could close up early?"

     He shrugs. "Might as well. It's not as if we have customers beating down the doors."

     I laugh at that. "Truth." We close up the bakery, and then Peeta walks me home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Katniss' POV**

_Fire. Fire everywhere. I try to breathe, but I find myself choking instead. The smoke is thick and heavy around me. There's no escape. I stumble to my feet, a small cry escaping my lips. "Help," I whisper. I need to scream and cry and run, but I lie here on the floor, curled up in a ball, gasping for any oxygen._

     " _Katniss!" I look up and see my father standing a few feet in front of me, beckoning me with his hands. "Come on, Katniss! You're stronger than this!"_

_I cough violently, struggling to sit up. "Papa . . ." I wheeze out the syllables. "Help me, Papa!" I'm almost certain he can't hear my hoarse voice over the roar of the flames stretching out in every direction around us._

     " _Come here, Katniss! Hurry!"_

_I force myself up. I need to get to Papa. He'll save me._

_I try to stand on my feet, but find that's it's impossible. I collapse back to the floor with a terrifying_ crack _! A whimper of frustration leaves my throat, and hopelessness starts to set in. I won't make it  in time. I'm going to die._

_"Crawl to me! Don't give up."_

_I make another attempt. This time, I take it slowly. My brain feels fuzzy. I can't think. I won't make it in time._

_Suddenly, I'm standing in front of him. The smoke has disappeared completely, and the fire is no where to be seen._

     " _Papa?" I whisper, disbelievingly._

_He scowls at me. "You didn't save Prim. You let her die."_

     " _W-what? No, Papa, I didn't! I'm taking care of her!" I grab his arm, trying to convince him that Prim is fine._

     " _No, you let your sister die so you could live instead. I'm disappointed in you. You are no daughter of mine." And with that, he pushes me into a dark hole. I scream as I fall, reaching my arms out to grab anything, but coming up with nothing but air._

     I awake with a scream. I gasp for breath, remembering the stale taste of smoke and the burning heat from the fire. And Papa . . . I failed him.

     And then I remember. Prim.

     I look frantically around for her until I find her lying beside me, gently snoring, her face completely at peace. I relax and lie back down, hoping to get back to sleep. But sleep eludes me for the rest of the night, and I watch the sun come up before getting out of bed and waking Prim.

     "We need to get to school," I tell her.

     "M'kay." She mutters back sleepily.

     "Here, let's eat some of the bread Mr. Mellark gave us, and then we'll get dressed."

     "Okay, Katniss."

     We eat quickly and tell Mama goodbye before we head off to school. After I drop Prim off to her class, the rest of the day goes by uneventfully. I caught a glimpse of Peeta once, but he was surrounded by his Merchant friends, so I didn't want to bother him.

* * *

     After school, I tell Prim to go straight home and I walk over to the bakery.

     I arrive at the bakery in no time and walk in, grabbing the broom. The floor behind the display case is a mess of flour and sugar, and I sigh. Partly in relief at having something to do, and partly because it never stays clean after I sweep it all up anyway. But, it gives me a job, so I can't be too annoyed at it.

     Mr. Mellark walks in, coming down from upstairs. "Hey, Katniss." He smiles warmly. "How was school?"

     "It was okay. Same as usual." I try to smile back, but I don't really feel like smiling.

     "Heh, I remember those days. The same boring teachers droning on and on about coal and what it does? Not something I was interested in."

     I snort. "Yeah, that's true."

     Peeta appears behind his father. "Hey, Katniss."

     "Hey, Peeta."

     "So, what are we doing today, Father?" he asks Mr. Mellark.

     "Well, we have a few deliveries to be made, so if you and Katniss want to do those, that'd be great."

     I nod. It's a fairly nice day out for this time of year, so I wouldn't mind going out to walk.

     Peeta grabs a big, felt bag and we fit a few small and medium sized loaves of regular bread inside. I grab a small bag and fit a few cheese buns in. Mr. Mellark likes to give them out to his deliveries, so we might as well do the same.

     Within the next few minutes, we're out the door and walking through town. People cast curious glances towards us, but that's about it. They've seem to accept that I work with Mr. Mellark now, whether they agree with it or not.

     "So, you're kinda quiet today." Peeta states slowly. I give him a look. "Well, quieter than usual, anyway. What's on your mind?"

     I sigh. "Not much. I just . . . I get these nightmares. It's dumb. I shouldn't really be bothered by it, but . . ."

     "But you can't help it?" He gives me a sympathetic smile. "I understand. I have nightmares, too, sometimes."

     I gape at him. "What are they about?" He doesn't answer for a minute, and I'm about to tell him to forget it when he does.

     "Mostly my mother. Y'know, her hurting people I care about and stuff." We stop talking when we approach the butcher shop, walking in and giving him his order and a cheese bun, then collecting payment and walking out.

     "What are yours about?"

     I think for a moment. "My Papa," I volunteer reluctantly at first. "And Prim. And, well, everyone I care about. I can't save them."

     "Maybe you don't have to."

     I stop walking. "What do you mean?"

     He stops too. "Katniss, maybe you're not supposed to be the hero all the time. Maybe you're supposed to let them know you love them before you wake up again."

     It seems so ridiculous that I almost snort. But it's Peeta. I'd expect nothing less than poetry from him.

     So instead of laughing the thought away, I just mumble, "Maybe," and leave it at that. We make the rest of the deliveries in comfortable silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Peeta's POV**

* * *

     Katniss turned twelve today. A few months ago, I turned twelve. Instead of being excited about it, like my other birthdays, my stomach felt like it was turned upside-down, swirling without end. I can tell she feels the same way. Father gives her the day off, since it's her birthday, and tells me to go ahead and take a day off too.

    "Hey, I have something I wanna show you." She says, but then adds shyly, "Ya know, if you want to see it."

     I was startled when she first said it. She wanted to show me something? Of course I would want to see it! We walked a little ways until we got to the fence separating our district from the outside. I began to feel nervous.

     "Are you sure we should be this close to it, Katniss? I heard it's pretty dangerous. Marty Copper said his brother died from being electrocuted by it."

    She snorts. "Yeah, and Marty Copper is a liar. His brother was taken away by peacekeepers 'cuz he got drunk and started talking bad about the Capitol. This fence isn't even on."

    I glance around. "How do you know?"

     "Shhhh." After a moment, she smiles. "Hear that?"

     I blink at her. "No. I don't hear anything."

    She grins. "Exactly." She reaches out and grabs a loose wire, slipping under it as if she'd done it a thousand times. And it occurred to me that maybe she had. "See? It's not on."

     I decide not to protest further. With her help, I slip under too, earning a small nick on the back of my hand from a sharp thread of wire sticking up. It doesn't bother me much, so I leave it be.

     "C'mon, it's just through here." She heads towards the woods, and the nervousness kicks back in.

     "Uh, aren't there things in there that could kill us?"

     "Yeah, but chances are we're going to die soon anyway, so who cares?"

     Well, that's a bit morbid. Technically, chances are we'll not die soon. We'll just suffer. And I'm okay with suffering, as long as I'm still alive. Still, I say nothing and follow her, though I jump at every sound. Katniss rolls her eyes at me and tells me the noises I'm hearing are my own feet hitting the ground. It may be partially true, but I don't think my feet are the only causes of noise.

     Long after my feet are sore and my legs feel numb, Katniss brushes away a few heavy branches, exposing a paradise like no other. A field of daisies, lilies, and dandelions surround a small body of water, which I can only guess to be a lake. A tiny structure is a few yards away from the lake, covered in vines and moss. It's so lovely. I wished that I had brought my sketchbook along. Paper was a luxury, so I didn't use it often, only when the urge to draw something was so strong, I can't sleep. I have a feeling this will be one of those urges.

     "So, what do you think?"

     I inhale deeply, trying to take everything in. Memorize it. Keep it in my most wonderful memories, so that I never lose it. "Well, it's . . . it's beyond words. It's so beautiful. No. Beautiful can in no way describe what this is. It's more than beautiful. If you could combine beautiful and all of its synonyms into one word, you would still fail to describe this."

     She laughs. "You kind of just did. I love it too."

     She shrugs. "I didn't. My papa did. He brought me here and taught me how to hunt."

     I turn towards her, eyes wide. "Really? That's amazing."

     "Yeah, it is. And now that it's spring again, I think I can start hunting. That way I won't have to take out tesserae."

     For a moment, it had seemed as if all pain and worries were gone. The world had been still and perfect. There was no wrong, no right. There was nothing but a field of flowers and a quiet lake and a dark-haired girl with silver eyes sitting across from me. But at the mention of tesserae, it all comes rushing back. The Games, the Capitol, the starving families that litter our dirty district. Even in paradise, you can't escape the horrifying truth for long.

    "Right. I might have to take it out, unless we want the stale bread that's left over from two days after it's been baked." I don't mean to complain, but it just isn't fair.

     "Don't worry, Peeta. I'll hunt for both our families."

     I look at her in surprise. "Katniss, I can't ask you to do that. What you catch should go to your family."

     She smirks at me. "At the risk of sounding cliché, you didn't ask me to. I offered. And I will, whether you want to accept it or not, Peeta Mellark."

     "You don't owe us anything for helping you out, Katniss."

     She sighs. "I know. But I want to return the favor. You've helped me with what you can. I want to do the same."

     "Maybe you can. What if . . ." I trail off, not sure how to ask her.

     "What if . . . ?" she prompts, raising an eyebrow.

     "What if you taught me how to hunt, too? Like your father did you." I bite my lip, unsure of how to act now that I've asked. Her face is expressionless, which makes the anxiety even worse.

     "You . . . want to know how to hunt?"

     "Yeah. Well, you know, if you wanna teach me. If not, that's fine. We can just forget about it in that case."

     She seems to be thinking it over. "What about the bakery? Doesn't your father need help?"

     I laugh. "From me? Not really. He normally makes Rye and Leven help more than he makes me, when they're around. But we could just do it on weekends, since we normally spend the whole day dusting and sweeping, hoping at least three people come in."

     She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess that's true. . ." She paces for a few seconds before turning back to face me. "Okay, I'll teach you. But you have to listen to everything I say. If you get hurt, I don't want to be responsible for that."

     I jump up from where I'm sitting by the lake and hug her, taking her by surprise. "Thank you!"

     She pushes away from me with a smile ghosting her lips. "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome. We start Saturday. And you can't tell anyone about this. If you do, we'll-"

     "We'll be in lots of trouble and President Snow will probably have us killed because two twelve-year olds decided to go into the woods and kill bunny rabbits."

    "Right." She ignores my sarcasm.

     "Seems a bit silly to care so much about a couple of dumb kids, though."

     She shrugs and sits down, looking at the water. "Not really. If word got out that a couple of twelve-year olds could get away with breaking the law, imagine what everyone else would do. There'd be . . ." she leans closer to me and whispers, "a rebellion."

     I look at her in surprise. "You really think so?"

     "Maybe. It's what Papa used to say before Mama would shush him."

     "Wow."

     "I know."

     For the rest of the day, Katniss and I run around the meadow. Sometime in the late afternoon, we dip our feet into the cool water, and Katniss constructs a flower crown out of dandelions. When she's finished with it, she places it on top of my head and declares me the dandelion king. We make up a game for the Dandelion King and his faithful archer, Katniss the Great. Before we know it, the sun is setting and we both walk back to the fence and part ways.

     My heart is light and I feel carefree. Because no matter what happens, this moment will always be in my memory, stored for bad days when I can't think of anything else to remind me of good. Because with days like this, there has to be some good left in the world. Right?


	7. Chapter 7

**Katniss' POV**

*****A few years later*****

    "I don't really see why we have to go hunting today."

    "And that, Peeta, would be the reason why I decide when we go hunting. If we depended on you decided, we'd starve to death."

    "Yeah, but at least I'd pick a sunny day. You always pick days that we'll catch pneumonia from and die." His voice is teasing, so I know he only half means it.

    "Yeah, yeah. You keep thinking that." I open my satchel and hand him a piece of cheese. We'll set a few traps and be on our way. Peeta's right. It's a bit too cold to be hunting right now. We haven't really seen much to hunt either.

    I hear a _thump_ and turn around to find Peeta lying on the ground, his boot tangled up in a root. Sighing, I move to help him up. No matter how many times I tell him, he'll never remember to watch his footing when he walks. I've reminded him constantly every weekend for the past four years, and yet he still manages to forget.

    Not that it bothers me too much. It's always amusing to see Peeta pouting on the ground because he doesn't listen to me.

    "Seen our friend Zoe yet?" I ask him as he dusts himself off.

    "Nah, she's smarter than us, not coming out in the cold like this and sleeping in." He replies.

    Zoe is an orphaned fox we found two years ago. She was too small to kill for food and downright adorable, so we took turns coming out to the woods everyday to feed and check up on her. She always meets us at the edge of the woods now, except on days like this, with everything as unusually cold as it it.

     "Oops, looks like I spoke too soon."

     I turn around and find Zoe sitting in front of Peeta with her head cocked to the side. He kneels down and rubs her chin, talking to her in baby gibberish.

     "You know, she'd probably look at you as if you're an actual human if you'd stop talking like an idiot." I say to him. He picks up a stone and chucks it at me. I snicker when it misses by a foot. "Come on, we gotta get going."

     "Why?" He questions. "It's not like we're catching anything."

     "So? We still have to put our stuff up and get home before the reaping."

     He sighs. "You nervous?"

     "Of course," We start walking, Zoe trailing behind us. "But not for myself. It's Prim's first year. She's so scared, even though she only has one entry."

     "It was the same for us on our first year. She'll be fine." He nudges me gently with his elbow, steering us towards the lake. "After this year, the rest of the reapings will seem pointless."

     I shrug. "They shouldn't though. The chances are only higher every year."

     He stops me and grabs both of my harms, holding me still while he stares into my eyes. "Katniss, you can't think like that. You're not going to be reaped. Not now, not ever. Two more years of this, and we'll be free."

     I pull away from him, shaking my head. "No, _you'll_ be free. In two years, if Prim gets reaped, I won't be able to save her."

     "She won't be reaped."

     "I hope you're right."

     "Of course I am. I'm always right." He states with a wink. I roll my eyes in response. I pretend to be annoyed by his confidence, but in all honesty, I'm glad to see that his mother's cruel words throughout childhood haven't reached far enough inside him that he can't be confident.

     "Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

     "Since we've only got – what, one squirrel? - why don't we just give it to Zoe? She's looking a bit thin."

     Ah, that's Peeta. Desperate to help anything in need. Of course, Zoe doesn't really need our help. In fact, she's as plump as she's ever been. Peeta's possibly just trying to avoid the inevitable argument that will take place when it comes time to decide who takes the squirrel. There's not enough meat on it to split, and Peeta would want to give it to me. Since he caught it, I would want him to take it. Since neither of us would agree, we'd just spend all day arguing. Unfortunately, we don't have all day.

     "Sure," I agree easily. I toss the squirrel at her feet. She just stares at it before looking back to us, seemingly annoyed. I snort. "Doesn't look like she appreciates our help, Peeta."

     "Yeah, well, I'm sure she'll accept it later, when we're not here watching."

     I hum in agreement, and we continue on our way back to the fence. Zoe sat still, knowing she wasn't allowed beyond it.

     We split up after we crawled back under fence, saying quick goodbyes and going back to our homes to get ready for the reaping.

* * *

     Mama had one of the only fancy dresses from her life back in town lying on the bed, waiting for me. I knew better than to reject it, so I put it on and let Prim attempt to put up my hair. Her hands were shaking so badly, Mama had to finish for her. In turn, I helped Prim braid hers.

     She started to walk out the door before I stopped her. "Tuck in that tail, little duck," I said lovingly, tapping a finger lightly to her nose.

     She giggled nervously. "Oh, right." After tucking in her shirt, she gripped my hand and we left the house together.

     The walk to the reaping seemed to last both forever and only a few seconds. It was relatively simple for me; a routine that happened only once a year.

     But Prim seemed to be on the edge of hysteria, her breathing quick and uneven, her fingers twitching spontaneously in mine. It would be useless trying to calm her down, as I know from my own experience that no matter how many pretty words are thrown in my face, I only felt more anxious as the clock ticked down to the moment when Effie Trinket would walk out onstage and smile as if the world of two children weren't about to come to an abrupt end.

     I had to let Prim go so we could both be identified and logged. I saw her join the group of other twelve-year old girls before losing her in the crowd. I'm not too worried, though. It's Prim's first year. She'll be fine.

     I end up looking for Peeta, but come away unsuccessful, as it's time for everyone to group up. I stand in-between two town girls that I know through Peeta, but they don't acknowledge me. Not that I expected them to. It's a tense day, and no one feels much like smiling and exchanging small talk when it's possible that it could be your last day standing in your district.

    The start of the reaping is painfully slow. The mayor makes some words on honor and dignity, but everyone can tell that he's more annoyed than patriotic. Effie finally steals the stage and blabbers about how happy she is to be here (an obvious lie) and how she's so excited to meet the next tributes (another blatant lie). When the time comes for Haymitch Abernathy to state a few words, he just sways around and mutters something about a pile of dead kids. He's the only form of entertainment this district has.

     Finally, after a boring video they replay every year, Effie announces quite cheerfully that it's time to pick the girl tribute. Every girl draws in her breath immediately, almost as if practiced. Fear heats my stomach, and I suddenly feel as if I might be sick.

     Every year, it's the same.

     Effie's fingers float around in the bowl, teasing us. It feels so wrong, but I hope it's not me or Prim. But in hoping it's neither of us, I'm hoping another goes in our stead.

     It feels so selfish.

     Effie finds a piece of paper and pulls it out. That girl's fate is sealed now. And every one of us are hoping it's not our fate.

     Effie undoes the tape closing the paper. She does it ever so slowly, as if she's not holding someone's life in her hands. I want to scream at her to hurry up and tell us, but my mouth stays closed.

     Her eyes scan the words and she opens her mouth. "Primrose Everdeen!"

     My heart stops. Prim. My precious little sister. No. Her fate is not sealed. "I volunteer as tribute!" I call out, forgetting the rules to volunteering but not caring. I will fight my way into the arena if it keeps Prim alive.

     I walk out of the crowd and towards the stage while everyone stares at me in shock.

    "Volunteer? No one's ever volunteered before!" I hear a few whisper.

     "She's crazy. Absolutely crazy. Just like her mom," others say.

     I ignore them all. I'm not going in there for them, or for the Capitol, or for all the glory and honor and fame in the world. Only one person matters to me right now. I glance over to where Prim stands and she looks frozen. Tears stand out in her eyes, but she makes no move to stop me.

     Good. She couldn't even if she tried.

     Effie finally breaks out of her stupor. "Oh, well, terrific! District Twelve's very first volunteer! What's your name, sweetling?"

     "Katniss Everdeen." I tell her, staring straight into her violet-colored eyes. I absently wonder if they did some kind of surgery to make them have that coloring.

      "Alright, well, now it's time for our boy tribute." Instead of prolonging this like she did with the girls, her hand dives right into the bowl and pulls one out. She opens it quickly, her fingers stumbling a bit. "Tarlem Reidner!"

     I don't recognize the name, but it doesn't matter. Before poor Tarlem can even move from his spot, someone else calls out in his stead. I'm so caught up in the idea that I'm going to the games I didn't catch who.

     And then he walks up to the stage, and I find myself face to face with Peeta.


	8. Chapter 8

**Peeta's POV**

* * *

     After I state my name and shake hands with Katniss, we're escorted inside the Justice Building. I don't know what came over me, volunteering like that. But I couldn't let Katniss go into it alone. I couldn't stand to watch her in the games and not be there for her. It would kill me.

     We don't talk at all, and soon enough, we're put into separate rooms for our families to visit us. Delly and my father visit me. Father pulls me into a hug and tells me to be strong. Delly just cries. We were pretty close growing up, and even now we still talked about almost everything. She was like a sister to me throughout the years.

     Now she's just going to be another person I'm leaving behind.

     I know Katniss can take care of herself, but I need to be there for her. Because what if she's hurt? What if she can't keep going? I can't afford to lose her. I love her, and in more ways than one.

     Finally, we're brought out of the rooms and to the train. Katniss still hasn't said a word to me, nor has she even looked at me. I know I'll have to start the conversation.

    "Katniss-"

     She whirls around to face me. "No, Peeta. You didn't have to volunteer. I can take care of myself. You should have stayed behind and taken care of my family in case I didn't come back! But now, one of us will have to die. Or both. And our families will have a lot of trouble because of that." With that, she turns her back on me.

     I sigh. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't think."

     "I know you didn't think. But you should have."

     "A little too late for that now, huh?" I smile a little. "But at least you didn't have to go with Tarlem. He's known for being very emotional, and you'd go crazy before sunset."

     She gives a little laugh at that. "Yeah, but at least I could comfort myself knowing my family was being taken care of."

     "And you still can! Katniss, you know my father won't let Prim and your mom starve. He'll make sure they have enough to eat."

     "I hope you're right."

     "Of course I am. I'm always right," I repeat the words I spoke earlier that day with the same smile. That does it. She starts laughing.

     I pull her in for a hug, resting my chin on her head. "Everything will be okay, Katniss. I promise."

     "Whatever helps you sleep better at night," she mutters.

     We meet Haymitch later that day. He stumbles into the cart and, upon seeing us, chuckles. "So, two volunteers at one reaping, eh? That doesn't happen in the outer districts. Must be lovers."

     Katniss glares at him. "No, I'm protecting my sister."

     Haymitch glances over to me. "Ah, so you," he points to me, "must be protecting . . . ah, what's his name,"

     "Tarlem." I guess.

     "Yeah, him. That guy. You protecting him?"

     I shake my head. "No, I volunteered so I could make sure Katniss was okay."

     "So I was right," he snickers. "Lovers. Absolutely pathetic."

     "We're not-" Katniss starts to stand up, but I move my arm in front of her, silently telling her to calm down.

     "Look, think whatever you want to, but we need a plan."

     Haymitch looks us over. "Huh. Well, ya got any skills?"

     "We can hunt." Katniss says. "With bows. We can also make pretty good traps."

     "Pretty sure that's illegal, but we can work with it. Nothing's illegal in the games." He nods. "Yeah, we'll work with it. But in the meantime, you two are lovers. Doesn't matter what real or not, but the Capitol saw two teens volunteering in someone else's stead so they could fight together in the games. That's going to be your strategy."

     "Fine," Katniss and I say at the same time.

     "This should put you both at an advantage. The games have never seen romance. When they do, the Capitol will go crazy over it. I'm going to guess you two will be some of the most popular."

     "And that'll get us sponsors, right?"

     "You better hope it does. If it doesn't . . . well, then you'd better be real good with a bow and hope to all that's good and holy that you can get to the top 4, at most."

* * *

     We arrive in the Capitol not long after. Katniss and I are separated, and I end up in a colorless, metal room. I'm made to undress and then my "prep team" comes in and fusses over me.

     Two guys and a girl make up my prep team, and I learn their names are Samhaim, Nimmo, and Fawn. Apparently, they're all siblings, and their parents wanted their children to have "exotic" names, so they named them District names.

     Samhaim's hair is green, and his eyebrows are pink. He wears crooked teeth dentures, because apparently that's all the rage now.

     Nimmo's hair is spiky and every spike is a different color. He constantly checks his own reflection in the mirror and makes sure his spikes stay spiky.

     Fawn is the most impressive of the three. She wears fake eyelashes with tiny fawns patterns. Her hair is red on top, but turns black the farther it goes down. Around her eyes, she wears smeared makeup, and it almost looks as if she's been crying, though she says it's like that for effect.

     All in all, they're a nice bunch, and they keep the conversation going, so it never gets awkward. I find myself warming up to them, and I can only hope Katniss's prep team is as nice to her as mine is to me.

     In no time at all, they're finished with grooming me and tell me that Portia will be coming in to assess me.

     About ten minutes after the prep team leaves, Portia walks in. Her skin is a few shades darker than Katniss's, making her a light brown color. Her hair's bright pink, and her eyes are a strange purple color. I know those can't be real.

     "So, you're Peeta?" She stands in front of me, staring me up and down.

     I chuckle nervously. "If I'm not, I'd like to know who is."

     She smirks. "That wasn't very funny, but you tried, so I'll credit you for the effort."

    "Thanks, that means a lot to me."

     "I bet it does." She sighs and tilts her head, still studying me. "Well, we'll need adjustments for the suit I have prepared, but I think it'll work."

     "Okay?"

     "Mmhmm. Tell me, though, are you afraid of fire?"

     "Uh, no. I've worked in a bakery my whole life. I'm always around fire."

     "Good. That's really good."

     And then she starts taking my measurements and I can't help but wonder what she meant by that.

* * *

     I see Katniss right before the start of the parade. She's clothed in a black body suit much like mine. When she sees me, I crack a smile. "You're looking stylish."

     She rolls her eyes. "This is ridiculous. Are we supposed to be twins or something?"

     "Could be worse," I say, seeing Portia and a man who looks similar to her getting closer out of the corner of my eye. "I mean, we could be naked and covered in coal dust."

     "I will still never stop having nightmares over that Tribute Parade." She says, making a face.

     "I don't think anyone will," the man says brightly as he moves to stand next to Katniss.

     Katniss rushes to introduce us. "Peeta, this is Cinna, my stylist."

     "Nice to meet you Cinna."

    Portia introduces herself to Katniss and quickly moves on. "We don't have much time, and we didn't explain what your outfits are going to do earlier, so we have to be quick."

     I look at Katniss and see she looks as puzzled as I feel.

     "Do?" she questions. "The outfits are only for looks, right? They don't do anything."

    Cinna shakes his head. "Not quite. The outfits are for looks, but they can do something to aid their looks."

     Portia laughs. "What, you thought we were going to send you out in _that_?" When we don't respond, she seems to realize we did think so.

     Cinna shakes his head. "No, no, we're going to set you on fire."

     My jaw drops. "What?"

     "Look, I realize the we don't have the best chances in the Games, but we're not really interested in suicide," Katniss states dryly.

     Portia giggles and Cinna snorts. "Yeah, well, we're not too interested in burning you alive either." He says with a shake of his head.

     Portia holds up a torch-like object and flips a switch on. A small blue flame peeks out and dances briefly before Portia flips the switch back off. "This is fake fire. It looks completely real, doesn't it?" Katniss and I nod. "Good. That's the point. We're going to light both of your outfits shortly before your chariot pulls out to join the parade. After we light it, it will stay lit for thirty to forty-five seconds. It'll go out after that and you shouldn't feel a thing. Well, we hope you won't."

     "You hope we won't? So . . . there's a chance we will?"

     "We never did get a person to try on the suit. They thought we were crazy!" Cinna says as if that's the most unbelievable thing ever.

     "Maybe they were right." Katniss declares plainly.

     " **ONE MINUTE UNTIL PARADE. TRIBUTES, PLEASE MOUNT YOUR CHARIOTS**." A deep voice overhead causes us all to look up.

     "Well, there's no time to debate that," says Cinna, "so we might as well get this over with quickly. Hurry and get on your chariot."

     I climb on and help Katniss up, ignoring her scowl. I lean to whisper in her ear. "Am I the only one worried about whether or not we're going to be slowly toasted?"

     "I'll rip your cape off if you'll rip mine off." She whispers back.

     "You can count on it."

     And then the other chariots start to move out, and Cinna and Portia gather our capes into their hands and begin to light them.

     I hold my breath and hope to anything that might take pity on me that we're not about to burn alive. I at least want a fighting chance over this thing.

     At last our chariot pushes forward, and after a moment of stunned silence, the crowd starts chanting our names. Katniss's hand clasps with mine almost automatically, and we lift our arms up without even thinking. And just like that, we're unstoppable.


	9. Chapter 9

**Katniss's POV**

* * *

     We were on fire. Literally. And it didn't even hurt a little.

     I barely registered the crowd's screaming. I smiled and waved, but it was as if I were someone else in that moment. It didn't feel as if I were there. And then suddenly the flames go out and we're being ushered from our chariot into the eager arms of Effie, who's squealing about how _utterly perfect_ we were. The other tributes shoot us jealous glares, but again, I hardly register it as little more than a simple fact.

    We're separated, undressed and redressed into more sleep appropriate clothing, and then brought to our apartment on the twelfth floor of the training center. Haymitch meets us on the way up.

     "I needed a drink" is his excuse for not meeting us after the parade. I don't really care, since I'm still getting over the whimsical feeling I've had since the chariot first started moving.

 _You're getting pulled into the game,_ some part of me warns.

 _No, I was on fire. I'm sure anyone who has survived being on fire has felt similar,_ I argue back.

_I'm actually pretty sure they would have felt some mixture of fear and relief._

     Well, I have to hand it to myself. I do put up a good argument.

     "You will sleep in _this_ room, Katniss," Effie taps her manicured nails on the door the the right of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "And Peeta, you'll sleep in _this_ one!" She taps the nails of her other hand on the door opposite of mine.

     "Yes, because it's _very_ important that you sleep in the correct rooms. The Capitol might _fall_ if you were to sleep in any other." Haymitch drawls from the end of the hallway, bottle in hand.

     Effie huffs. "Haymitch, I just think it'd be a good idea to have some kind of order and routine before they go into the arena."

    "Right, right," he laughs, "you're completely right, Effie. After all, when they're watching people their own age being slaughtered in front of them, I do believe it will bring them some peace to know that they were assigned rooms before they went in there to remove any awkwardness."

     "That's not true. I-"

     "Oh, forgive me. That's if they even _make it_ past the bloodbath."

     Peeta and I watch on, and I can't help but feel sort of awkward right now. I didn't really care that we had been assigned rooms, and I know Peeta didn't either. It wasn't really necessary for Haymitch to start a fight over it.

     Effie's voice sounds strangled when she responds. "Why, Haymitch? Why do you always do this to me?" her voice cracks halfway through the last sentence, and I wince. I hate when people cry.

     "Haymitch, just leave her alone, okay? I think we're all tired after today, so let's get some rest. We have interviews tomorrow, right?"

     Effie sniffs. "That's right, we do. We need to be up early, early so we can practice for it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should go lie down." And with that, she leaves the room. A few seconds later, a door clicks shut and Haymitch smirks.

     "Well, boy, you're the first one to take up for her." He says, looking into his bottle before tossing it over his shoulder mindlessly. It shatters somewhere behind him, but he doesn't turn around or even flinch.

     "Why are you so cruel to her though?"

     "The better question is, why aren't you?" Haymitch says to Peeta.

     "Huh?" I can't help but feel that I'm missing something here.

     "She's from the Capitol, she eats rich foods on a daily basis _for fun,_ she worships the 'game' that will possibly kill you. And that's only three things. So, let me ask again, why don't you hate her?"

     "Because it's not right," Peeta answers with no hesitation. "She doesn't know better. She didn't make the games. She didn't pick me. I came in here on my own will, so I have no one to blame but myself and the men who decided to make this thing seventy-four years ago. And since they're dead, it does me no good to blame them, either. I'm not going to take my decision out on a woman who couldn't do anything about it."

     Haymitch starts to interrupt, but Peeta is no where near finished.

     "So, are you telling me that because she was born into this and can't do a single thing to stop it, that I should hate her?"

     "Well-"

     "In that case, shouldn't I hate you?"

     "What-" Haymitch sputters.

     "You haven't done anything to stop it, have you? In fact, you're enabling it. Effie at least tries to make us feel comfortable and cared for until we go in there. You . . . you just get drunk and tell us we have no chance of winning. Tell me, how are you any better than Effie?"

     "Yeah, yeah. Get in your room and go to sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow." He grumbles as he stalks to his own room.

     I shake my head and sigh. "You're too good, Peeta."

     He laughs. "How is there such a thing as 'too good'?"

    "I don't know," I tease, stepping closer to my door, "but if there is, you're the reason it was created."

     "It's just common human decency!"

     I shake my head again. "No. No one is as kind as you are, Peeta. Of all the people in the world, I'm sure you're the only one who is that forgiving of your oppressors."

     He smiles softly. "Well, there's really no point in being angry all the time over something I can't control, is there?"

     "That's another talk for another day. We better go to bed. I heard they shut off the lights at midnight, no matter what."

     That's probably just a rumor," Peeta states, leaning against his door, making no move to enter his room.

     "Yeah, well, I don't really want to find out if it's just a rumor or not. I'm going to bed." I open my door and walk in, turning around and giving him a small smile. "Goodnight, Peeta."

     He opens his door and smiles back. "Night, Katniss. See you tomorrow."

    I shut the door and take in the room. It's spacious. Overly so. I realize for the first time that I'm going to be lonely here. It'll only be for a week, and then we'll be fighting to stay alive. But for this week, I'm going to be in a big room by myself, with no warm Prim cuddled into my side. My mother won't be snoring lightly across from me.

     I sit on the large, soft bed and sink into myself. It's a good night for nightmares.


	10. Chapter 10

**Katniss' POV**

* * *

 

     I'm spinning round and round while Cinna stands behind me, glaring at the bottom of my interview dress. Haymitch is sitting on a sofa behind him, rambling about what I need to say for the interviews. I've been ignoring him mostly.

    "No, no, no!" Cinna shouts. I stop spinning. "No, not you, Katniss." He sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. "It's my fault. The trail is too long. It should be about an inch above your ankle. I must have messed up the measurements. I'll have to lift it."

     "Okay." I slip out of it, and I'm thankful for the slip underneath the dress. Cinna seemed to understand my concern about modesty. I'd rather not be nearly naked in front of Haymitch. And while it's not exactly comfortable to be in my underwear in front of Cinna, it is more bearable.

     "So, anyway, sweetheart, you're gonna have to play stupid at first. Of course, I doubt it'll be very hard for you to pretend on that."

     I glare at him. "Keep talking, and we're going to have to find a fill-in mentor."

     He laughs dryly. "Right. Go ahead and put me out of my suffering. You think I'm living for anything?"

     "Haymitch, could you possibly not start with that right now?" Cinna snaps.

     "Sure, Cinna. Anyway, Katniss, you gotta make Caesar dig for it. If you just out and say, 'oh, I'm in love with Peeta!' it won't work. You gotta blush, you gotta smile in a way that says you know secrets no one else does. You gotta be a girl who is completely in love with your fellow tribute and childhood friend. But there has to be some sadness there too. Remember, only one of you can make it out alive. You're aware of that, but you won't let that destroy the romance between you and your darling."

     "Alright, I get it."

     "You better. If you ruin this . . . you can forget about winning the games and going home to your little sister."

     "I said, I _get it_." I growl at him.

     I get it all too well. Peeta or I will die. Maybe we both will. There's no way both of us can win. Even if I do go home to my little sister, I won't have Peeta. And I don't know how I could live with that. Something tells me I can't.

     "Alright, Katniss, let's see if this works." Cinna pushes the dress back over my head and I slide my arms into the sleeve holes. "Okay, now spin." I do as I'm told. "Perfect!" Cinna claps his hands. "Okay, you can take it off again and get dressed and work on your interview or whatever it is you plan on doing."

     "Welp," Haymitch slaps his hands against his thighs and stands up. "I'm out of here. I have a date with a bottle."

     I say nothing to him, and he leaves without any further words.

     I dress in Capitol-supplied clothing and make my way back to the apartment and decide to go up onto the roof, since I remember Cinna having mentioned it being a lovely view when we first woke up this morning.

     When I open the door to the roof, my breath is taken away. Cinna said it was a lovely view, but lovely isn't a good enough word to describe this place. This piece of wild in the Capitol is more than lovely, or beautiful. It's . . . home.

     I let my fingers glide through the air, lightly touching the wind chimes that are scattered across the way. The tinkling sounds remind me of Prim's goat's bell that hangs around her neck. It sounds nothing like these chimes, but they're the closest sound to it that I've heard since I left.

     "Hello?"

     Peeta's voice startles me. I didn't expect him to be up here. I came up here to be alone. To think.

     "Hey, Peeta." I call out, advancing towards the direction his voice came from.

     He smiles when he sees me. "Guess we had the same idea, huh?"

     "Guess so." I try to smile back, but grief is weighing heavily on me. But grief over what? His inevitable death? Or mine? Or both? Am I grieving because we'll never see our families again? We'll never walk into the bakery together and breathe in the smell of fresh bread and pastries. We'll never see that blasted coal-dusted dirt that covers just about everything in District 12.

     No. We have a chance. Not us both, but one of us will go home.

     One of us has to go home.

     "Katniss? You okay?" He looks worried. I want to say something like, "I'm fine," but he'd see right through it.

     I could never lie to Peeta.

     "I don't want to lose you! I won't be able to go back home if you die. You know that right?" I'm rushing through the words. "Why did you have to be so noble? Before, I could have won! I could have won and went back home to Prim and Mama and you. But now . . . I can't kill you. I can't watch you die. I can't let someone hurt you. Maybe it's selfish, but I can't live without you. If you die, I will never go home. I'll always be stuck in that arena watching you die."

     "Katniss-"

     "I'm so scared, Peeta. I can't lose you. I'll never be the same. I'll lose it. I'll be insane; just like-" My mother, I was going to say. But could you go mad the same way my mother did losing my father losing a friend? If not, that would suggest I care for Peeta more than as just a friend. I guess it doesn't really matter now. Whatever I might feel or would have felt for him is irrelevant. The more I care, the crazier I'll be when I lose him. Because he's not going to let me die in his place. He'll convince me not to.

     "Katniss, if you die, and I live, I'll have nothing to live for. You have Prim and your mother. They need you. But my brothers and father can get along just fine without me. They'll be upset and hurt for a while, but they'll get over it."

     "No." I shake my head. "Don't do that."

     "Do what?"

     "Put yourself down like that! As if you don't matter. Because you matter to me." It hurts. It hurts so much, saying these words. I'm baring my soul to him, and it'll be all for nothing.

     "And you matter to me. You matter too much for me to let you die so I can live."

     "Why?" I collapse to the ground and lay my face in my hands. The stinging of tears in my eyes threatens to overcome my self-control. "Why did you have to volunteer? Why couldn't you just have faith that I'm capable of taking care of myself and waited for me to come home?"

     He sits down beside me and sighs. "I don't know. I didn't think. I just . . . acted."

     "I'm the impulsive one, Peeta. You're supposed to be the one who thinks things thoroughly."

     "I know, I know."

     "It's not fair."

     "I never said it was."

     I don't know what else to say, so I say nothing. We sit in silence until an Avox comes up with a note from Haymitch telling us we need to practice for interviews. We say quiet goodbyes and make our way to practice; him to Effie and I to Haymitch.

* * *

     I can't concentrate the entire session. I can't think about making the crowd love me. I don't really want the crowd to love me. If they love me and I survive, they'll never let me be free. I'll be their plaything until I die, like so many victors have.

     Eventually, Haymitch gives up trying to mentor me on this and goes to see how Effie and Peeta are doing. It's better that way. If Haymitch can give any useful advice on what to say, Peeta will have a better chance at sponsors. Sponsors mean gifts that keep you alive longer.

     It's so, so selfish to think this way. To willingly plan on crushing him, if it means that I won't be crushed. But Peeta's the selfless one, not me.

     I think that if I were to die peacefully, maybe he'll accept it better. He could find a sweet girl – Maybe Delly, I muse – and get married and have kids and the bakery. Maybe the Capitol would let him.

     And that's my plan. I won't let him talk me out of it. Peeta will live happily, and I will sacrifice myself so he can. The world is already filled with too many angry, impatient people. I'm one amongst many. But I've never met a single human as good and kind and happy as Peeta is. He has every reason to be angry. _I_ have every reason to be angry. And yet, he isn't, and I am. We've both suffered so much, and yet we've handled it so differently.

     That's why he has to live. He can pass his kindness down to his children and grandchildren, maybe. And perhaps, someday, they'll reclaim freedom for us all. Simply because a stubborn girl died for a kind boy.

     Interviews are in an hour. My prep team has already done my hair, nails, and makeup. I'm in my dress. There's nothing to do but wait now. And waiting in a hallway full of tributes isn't what I want to be doing. I'm either worrying about my speech or making sure the guy from District 8 _didn't_ just slide closer to me on this already too small sofa, and if he _did_ in fact slide closer, glare at him until he slides back.

     I wonder if all of the tributes from previous years had to go through this. I thought it'd be more . . . planned out. Or maybe Effie is one of the few organized people here.

     A small girl, about Prim's height and stature, comes down the hallway, biting her lip when she sees all of the seats filled. Without thinking about it, I stand up and walk in the direction she came. When I pass her, I just say, "Watch out for D-8. He's got personal space issues," and continue walking without really knowing where I'm going. I pace around for a little while and hope that we're nearly ready to start.

     When I'm absolutely certain that interviews should start any minute now, I decide to go back. I end up getting lost, but I find the hallway just after the curly-haired kid from District 4 goes up for his interview.

     "Where were you?" Effie all but shouts at me when I see her. "We've been looking for you."

     "Obviously not," I say. "I was just down the hall a bit." I gesture vaguely in the direction I was in.

     "Well, you stay here from now on. You'll be up there in no time."

     "Right." I look around. "Where's Peeta?"

     She shrugs lightly. "He wanted to talk to Haymitch about something. Hopefully they'll be back soon." She glances at the clock on the wall and bites her lip, sighing.

    I scan the room and find the girl, from District 11 I realize, still sitting next to District 8 boy. Her puppy-like chocolate eyes meet mine briefly before skittering away.

     Alright then.

     I play with a loose strand of my hair and adjust my dress until Peeta and Haymitch show up.

     Haymitch grunts at Effie. "C'mon, we don't need to be here. They can handle this part."

     "But-" Effie looks between Peeta and I, seeking affirmation that we need her.

     "It's okay, Effie." Peeta states gently. "You've done so much for us. You deserve a little break. We'll be fine."

     With another sigh, she agrees and gives Peeta and I a quick kiss on the cheek, insisting she'll be back after our interviews are finished. She drags Haymitch behind her, saying something about schedules and plans.

     Peeta nods to D-11 girl. "She's watching you."

     I glance over at her, and she turns her head quickly. "She must like my dress. She won't even look at me."

     "She looks like the District 11 version of Prim."

     I fold my arms across my chest and move to turn my back on the girl. "I don't want to think about that. I can't think of her as an alternate Prim."

     He nods. "I understand."

     "Cinna says my dress will catch on fire if I spin." I change the subject. "Should be interesting. Unless it burns the dress to a crisp and I'm left on stage in next to nothing."

      "Aww, why do you get the cool clothes? This suit only has little velvet flames on the sleeves. I want to spin and catch on fire, too."

     "We can trade," I suggest playfully. "I won't mind too much."

     "I'd love to! Where's a changing room?"

      "Rue. District 11. You're up next." An assistant loudly states. The girl I gave my seat to walks out of the room with them.

     "These interviews are going pretty quick," I note. "The waiting was the long part."

     "Yeah. We only get two or three minutes each, I think."

     "We woke up at five in the morning and prepared all day for something that lasts two or three minutes."

     Peeta grins. "Seems a little pathetic, right? But what can we do about it? It's already been done. Might as well move on from it."

     "Still. It's a whole day wasted."

     "Not completely. There's some of the day left. We'll make the most of it."

     An assistant walks around the corner into the room. "Katniss, you're up. Please follow me."

     "See you soon," I say to Peeta.

     I pick the hem of my dress up off the floor and follow the assistant. There's a narrow hallway with bright, colorful lights that are almost blinding. And then I'm thrust out onto the stage. The crowd shouts and screams, but Caesar's shiny blue hair and distractingly white teeth are the first things to catch my eye.

      He grabs my hand and kisses it before helping me sit on the small, cushioned chair across from his. "Katniss, Katniss. . . It's wonderful to have you here!"

     "Thank you, Caesar. It's . . . good to be here."

     "So, tell me, what is life like in District 12? We don't hear much about it, you know." The crowd laughs as if it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.

     "Oh, it's good. Some have it better than others, and some have it worse. I guess that's the same everywhere, though." I don't really know what I'm saying. My head is clouded, and I'm struggling to think of the right words to say.

     "Yes, yes. That's very true. Tell us, what are your hobbies?"

    "Um, I just finished my schooling a few months ago, so I mostly work at the bakery and spend time at home." A lie. I mostly hunt. I spend less time at the bakery, and even lesser time at home, than I do in the woods.

     "Right, right," Caesar crosses his legs and rests his chin on his fist. "Doesn't Peeta, the male tribute that volunteered with you, own the bakery?"

     "Not really. His father owns it."

     "But it's in the family."

     "Yeah, I guess so." Yes, this must really be pulling the crowd in. I'm already their precious darling. The sponsors are lining up and fighting over me.

     "So you and Peeta interact a lot?"

     "We're pretty good friends, if that's what you're asking." I already know where this is going, but I'm not ready for it. Haymitch said we need to act it out. It just doesn't seem right. This thing we've had for a while is too good and honest to become a piece of tragic entertainment.

     "I see." Caesar tilts his head, and it seems like he's urging me to play my part. I absently wonder if Haymitch talked to him about what I'm supposed to say, so he knows what questions to ask. Maybe all of the interviews are rigged to give the viewers what they want.

     "Well," I find myself rushing to say, "I may or may not have had a crush on him when we were younger." I laugh a little, hoping it seems genuine. "And I _may_ or may _not_ still have one. We'll keep it a secret though, okay?"

     Caesar leans back in his chair with a laugh. "Oh, I'm sure we and our friends can keep a secret." He turns to the crowd. "Right, folks?" When the crowd roars their agreement, he slaps his leg and laughs again. "Well, anything else to tell us, Girl on Fire? Wait, do you mind if I call you that? The stunt with your parade outfit was amazing!"

     "Thank you, but only Cinna can take credit for that. Speaking of fire outfits, my dress is supposed to be pretty special. Wanna see what it does?"

     "Absolutely!" The audience shouts their approval.

     I stand up and start to spin slowly. The dress lights up with little flames that tickle my skin. Everyone _ooh_ s and _aww_ s and I spin faster. After a few moments, I'm too dizzy to keep going and nearly fall over before Caesar catches me.

     "That was fantastic. Really. It's been lovely chatting with you."

     "Same to you, Caesar." I smile and wave to the crowd as I make my way out.

     Haymitch and Effie meet me on the other side.

     "You could have done better," Haymitch tells me in a bored tone.

     "You were fine," Effie says over him. "It just seemed a little stilted, is all."

     I know she's just trying to make me feel better, but I thank her anyway.

     "Peeta's interview is starting." Haymitch announces. "You feel like watching?"

     I shake my head. "I'm tired. He'll understand."

     Effie immediately begins to fuss over me. "Oh, you poor dear," she mummers, patting my back. "It's been a long day. You should go up to the apartment and take a long bubble bath and get to bed. Tomorrow, training begins."

     Training. I don't even want to think about it. So I listen to Effie and take a bubble bath and fall into bed. I don't even bother seeing how Peeta's interview went.

     Perhaps I'm not the Girl on Fire. Maybe I'm just the Selfish Girl. But I'm too exhausted to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm still trying to write the next chapter, so I have no idea when that will be up. You can find me on tumblr as rnellark-everdeen.


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